


New Hope

by Liu



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Characters Watching Star Wars, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, depowered clark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: When Clark loses his powers for a while, Winn offers his sofa... and Star Wars. Feelings happen.((Written for DCCW rarepair swap on tumblr.))





	New Hope

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I got, from 'nopethefuckaway' on tumblr, was "Winn showing Clark Star Wars for the first time". It's my first time writing this pairing, I hope you'll enjoy it :)  
> ((I could not find an ao3 account linked to the tumblr one for gifting, hope this is okay))

Winn can see the family resemblance in the way Kara and Clark keep pouting.

“It’s for your own safety,” J’onn says, for the hundredth time, but both Kryptonians look thoroughly miserable. Winn imagines he would feel the same way if he had superpowers and then lost them. It’s a temporary setback in their fight against the newest alien invasion plaguing National City, some kind of a kryptonite-based substance that was thrown into Kara’s apartment smoke-bomb style: someone was likely hoping that getting rid of the slight pesky problem of Team Super’s invulnerability would also get rid of the Kryptonians permanently. Kara and Clark were pulled out of there before the exposure could seriously harm them, but they did inhale enough that their powers have simply fritzed out. The DEO lab results have predicted that the effects should wear off in two, three days tops; but the prospect of living that long without being able to do anything about the aliens must be wearing Kara’s (and Clark’s) patience thin.

“Come on,” Alex speaks softly to her sister, rubbing Kara’s back in soothing circles. “We’ll have a sleepover, make popcorn in a microwave for once, and you’ll be back to your supernaturally kickass self in no time, okay?”

Tension visibly seeps out of Kara’s shoulders and she nods. Winn glances at the other affected Kryptonian in the room, who looks a little dejected, but doesn’t speak up. Winn thinks it’s unfair: the guy did come all the way from Metropolis to help out, and now he’s stuck here without his powers, and apparently, without anyone to rub _his_ back.

Winn doesn’t let himself dwell on that particular detail; his fingers itch to reach out and touch, so he stuffs his hands in his pockets and pipes up:

“What about Clark?”

Kara and Alex blink up at him as if they weren’t paying attention anymore, and Alex’ face does that twisty thing as usual when she’s feeling guilty.

“Oh, Clark,” she sighs. “I’m sorry… of course you can stay with us. Well. We only have one couch, but. Um.”

Clark’s expression turns to that of a kicked puppy, and Winn wonders how can someone so… god-like look so innocent. And so lost.

“That’s alright,” the huge Kryptonian shoulders hunch a little, “I can get a hotel room nearby, it’s no-“

“It’s not an option,” Winn interjects before his brain has a chance to process what he’s actually saying, “you can stay with me. Someone needs to watch you for side effects.”

 _And make you hot cocoa_ , he adds in his head, but doesn’t say that out loud because, contrary to popular belief, he does have a brain-to-mouth filter. Sometimes.

Clark, bless his pure Kansas soul, practically beams, as if Winn suggested a vacation in Hawaii instead of a couple nights on a sofa in a mildly run-down apartment.

“Really? Are you sure?”

He leans towards Winn, all pearly whites and sparkling eyes. Winn can hear Kara, or maybe Alex, snickering in the background, but he pays no attention to anything except the sight of _Superman_ smiling at him like Winn just hung the moon.

“Y-yeah,” he manages and grabs his phone from the table, along with his keys. “Come on. You need to rest.”

He doesn’t wait for J’onn’s approval to walk out of there – he can practically feel everybody’s stares prickling through the back of his skull, but he cares very little about what they think at this point.

He’s gonna have Clark Kent in his apartment, and he’s going to enjoy the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity even if it’s the last thing he does.

Literally. Clark and Kara need to get their powers back a.s.a.p. unless they all want to serve some alien overlords next week: but for now, it’s waffles and fluffy blankets for Clark, and Winn isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

…

He really should’ve cleaned up, Winn thinks weakly as he lets Clark into his apartment and suddenly sees the dozen little messes he’s been avoiding for some time now. The coffee table is covered in magazines, books and empty mugs, the air smells a little stale and the breadcrumbs strewn over the kitchen counter don’t exactly paint the picture of homeliness that Winn was aiming for.

“Sorry about the mess,” he mumbles and hurries into the living room space, trying to push the magazines together so they would at least be stacked in one place. Grabbing four mugs at the same time, Winn yelps when he turns and almost collides with a broad chest.

“Sorry!” he squeaks, and Clark smiles:

“I can help? Just tell me what to do.”

“No need,” Winn protests, “you’re a guest.”

Clark’s eyebrow twitches in an unreadable expression and he shakes his head.

“I’ve also lived on my own for more than a decade now. I know how to clean, Winn. You’ve invited me into your home, so let me help you.”

The idea of Superman _cleaning an apartment_ is somehow beyond ridiculous, but he does have a point: in between all the superheroing and the journalism, he does have to live somewhere, and he probably has to clean that space once in a while. The thought makes Winn relax a little, and he smiles tentatively, holding the mugs out to Clark:

“Alright. Put these in the sink?”

Clark smiles again, and this time it’s that wide, goofy one that he doesn’t normally show the public. Or at least Winn hasn’t seen him look like that in any of the photos (maybe, just maybe he’s been collecting all the pictures he could get his hands on, shamelessly wheedling a few unpublished ones out of James).

This smile is for people like Kara, for people Clark actually cares about beyond the general ‘I’m a good guy and I think every life is important’. It makes Clark’s eyes crinkle and his ears look a little too big, and Winn’s heart twists in his chest.

And then, Clark takes the mugs and turns towards the small kitchen space, and Winn gets a free view of the perfect half-globes of his glutes… before Clark’s foot catches on the edge of the carpet and he stumbles, flailing and dropping one of the mugs on the floor.

“You alright?” Winn checks with a sigh, crouching down to collect the pieces of what used to be his favorite Darth-Vader-themed choice for morning tea.

Clark groans and carefully sets the others on the counter before coming to kneel next to Winn.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, with sincerity one should reserve for really serious offences, like forgetting his mom’s birthday or maybe leaving someone at the altar. The thought of Clark doing either of those makes Winn chuckle despite his mourning of the mug.

“It’s fine. Really.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” Clark offers, brightening a bit at the idea. He picks up the largest piece that still shows a good half of the Vader mask, and frowns. “Is this one from Star Wars or Star Trek? I can never remember.”

 _That_ gives Winn a pause, even more than the original loss.

“Wait. My man. That’s Darth Vader – everyone knows Vader! Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Star Wars?”

Clark has the presence of mind to look sheepish about this glaring gap in his cultural knowledge.

“My parents weren’t big on sci-fi,” he shrugs, smiling a little. “Ironic, I know, considering… me.”

Winn collects the last of the pieces, plucking the big one out of Clark’s fingers, and stands up with determination reserved for acquainting people with the greatest gems of American film-making.

“Alright, now we know what we’re gonna do with this evening. Aside from watching you for signs of poisoning,” he adds, because he doesn’t want Clark to think that he forgot the original purpose of this sleepover, which is to keep Clark alive, in case something goes wrong.

Winn really hopes nothing will, because Clark deserves to lose his Star Wars virginity without any uncomfortable side-effects.

He walks to the kitchen area to dump the sorry remains of his mug and waves his hand in the general direction of his TV set:

“You’ll find the DVDs on that shelf over there, go find the first one while I get us something to eat. Sandwiches alright with you? Any preferences?”

Clark gives him the most adorable scrunched-up expression at that. “No pickles?”

Of all the things in the world, Winn wouldn’t have pegged Superman for a pickle-hater, but it kind of drives home the point of Clark actually being… well… _human_. Even if he’s biologically not. He’s more than his cape, more than his powers, and what seems to be hiding underneath all that superheroing is starting to look more and more adorable to Winn. In that tooth-rotting, heart-clenching way that he hates because it usually crashes and burns with words ‘you’re a really nice guy, _but_ ’.

He refuses to let himself develop a crush on Clark; he’s already got one on Superman, but that’s just hero worship, completely safe and reasonable admiration for the guy who routinely puts himself in danger to save the planet that Winn is quite fond of.

Clark… that’s a whole another story. Having a crush on _Clark_ could only end badly for Winn, seeing as he’s got zero chill when it comes to romance. He’d fall completely and irreversibly, and it would take him quite some time to recover from the inevitable rejection – just as it was with Kara. It seems that he has a type: cute, a little dorky, and hiding a superpowered alien body underneath the sweater vests.

He’s not going to fall for it this time, he promises himself as he loads lettuce and mayo onto slices of bread. He’s going to watch Clark as he is supposed to, as an almost-colleague and kind-of-friend, he thinks as he puts the ingredients back in the fridge and forces himself not to smile when a jar of pickles catches his attention.

And then he walks back to the living-room area and gapes at Clark, standing next to Winn’s shelves with the DVD case that says ‘Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace’.

“No. Clark. No no no,” Winn groans and sets the plates on the coffee table (right by the stack of magazines that’s teetering dangerously to one side). He steps towards the other man and takes the DVD from him, sliding it back onto the shelf and pulling out the _right_ one.

“There’s an order to these things, and you start with this. Always.”

Clark takes one look at the DVD and frowns, visibly confused.

“But… this says ‘episode four’?” he blinks and glances back at Winn. His eyes seem to reflect all the late-afternoon light and Winn’s breath catches in his chest, knowing that as of now, he’s officially done for. He coughs and tries not to let this horrible, fuzzy thing take over his heart, and he launches on a rant about the proper viewing order and how the new movies will fit into that, though Clark should watch the original movies first. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but he could talk about Star Wars for hours and not come up for air so he’s not too worried – he can inform Clark about George Lucas’ life and work while internally panicking about the fact that his palms seem to be getting a bit sweaty from just standing near the Kryptonian.

He fiddles with the DVD player a little longer than absolutely necessary, and by the time he turns back, Clark’s sandwich is half-gone.

“This is good,” he mumbles happily through a mouthful of basic BLT. Winn inwardly groans, but smiles on the outside and sits next to Clark: not too close, just so that his stupid heart won’t be getting any ideas.

“Ready?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for the answer before he’s pressing ‘play’, in desperate need of some background noise to focus on so that he can tune out the whirlwind of wishful thinking in his head.

The first ten minutes, he keeps glancing at Clark nervously, ready to start with the ‘it gets better, just keep watching’, but it isn’t necessary; Clark is pretty much captivated from the first scene onwards, and eventually Winn settles more comfortably into the couch, leaning back and doing his best to relax.

Maybe that’s why it takes him by surprise when he feels sudden pressure on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie. He glances down and his eyes widen a little when he sees that Clark must’ve fallen asleep, sliding to the side until his head is resting against Winn’s shoulder.

His lashes look very long from this angle, and one small curl of hair is dangling over his forehead, and he’s maybe snoring a tiny little bit. Winn knows then that there’s no coming back from this.

But Clark has had a rough day and so Winn lets him sleep, watching Clark’s chest rise and fall and trying to tell himself he’s just doing medical surveillance. Clark’s hand keeps twitching in his lap, as if he’s reaching for something in his dream, and Winn wonders what it must feel like to be the person this man would want so much. The thought hurts, because Winn knows he’s never gonna be that person – he doesn’t even know if Clark likes guys at all, and even if he did, his type would probably be closer to James, all sleek and strong and built and driven. Winn doesn’t let himself get bitter about it: he’d come to terms with who he is and what he can have a long time ago.

But sometimes, just sometimes, he would like his heart to take that hint and start falling for people who might actually, somehow, end up liking Winn Schott back, because he’s thirty-three and he would very much like to have this: someone falling asleep on his shoulder, not by accident or because of alien poisoning, but because that person would trust Winn and like him and want to spend time at his place, even if they would be just watching Star Wars and eating sandwiches.

He must doze off at some point because he blinks awake suddenly to the sounds of Han, Leia and Luke being trapped in the trash compactor. Clark’s head is no longer resting against his shoulder, and it takes Winn a few seconds of confused regret before he realizes that it’s because Clark must have slid down in the course of the last hour and is now using Winn’s thigh as a pillow.

Winn’s insides go warm at the sight. His brain doesn’t manage to talk him out of running his fingers through Clark’s thick hair: it feels a little damp at his nape, but nothing out of control. The thick strands slide between Winn’s fingers smoothly and he almost sighs at the sensation.

Clark stirs and he _does_ sigh for real, which makes Winn swallow and pull his hand away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, glad that Clark’s not looking at him because he must be blushing; how stupid of him, to presume like that.

“No,” Clark mumbles, apparently still half-asleep, “I like it. My mom used to do that… when I was little.”

Winn’s heart is trying to pound out of his chest, but he takes a shaky breath and forces himself to voice the whirlwind of half-formed hopes in his head.

“So… is this okay?”

He runs his fingers through Clark’s hair again, brushing it back from his forehead, and Clark makes a sleepy, content sound in the back of his throat, pushing a little against Winn’s touch as if he’s chasing more.

Winn lets out the breath he’s been holding without even realizing it, and continues stroking Clark’s hair. The feeling is surreal, to say the least, and Winn knows that he shouldn’t indulge and set himself up for more heartache than absolutely necessary, but having Clark sigh happily against his thigh is addictive, and so he doesn’t stop.

The Death Star has been destroyed and the end credits roll, and Clark still doesn’t move away. Winn doesn’t want to be the one to break the moment, even though he really, really should, and he’s almost relieved when Clark rolls over. He looks up at Winn with such an open, sincere expression that Winn’s heart jumps again.

“Winn?” Clark says quietly; he sounds a bit unsure, and Winn can’t help but smile at him.

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” Clark mumbles and then glances back at the TV. “Can we watch the next one?”

Something tells Winn that Clark’s not all that interested in Star Wars, considering he mostly slept through this one, but he pushes that thought away as wishful thinking and nods.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t want to point out that Clark’s going to have to move if Winn’s to change the DVDs, and it takes a minute for the thought to kick into that super-brain.

“Oh. Sorry,” Clark mutters and sits up, looking like he’d much rather have stayed where he was. It must be the simple comfort of physical closeness, Winn tells himself, trying to prevent his heart from reading too much into it as he gets up to find ‘The Empire Strikes Back’. But he can’t quite help the sense of loss that washes over him, his thigh feeling a little cold where Clark’s cheek was resting not too long ago.

When the movie is ready, Winn realizes that he hasn’t even finished his sandwich yet, but he doesn’t feel hungry anymore, so he collects the plates and takes them back to the kitchen before coming back with two glasses of water. He settles back into his spot on the couch, and almost yelps out loud when Clark wordlessly shifts and settles his head back onto Winn’s thigh. He must sense the tension in Winn’s body, though, because he turns around to glance at Winn, looking a bit sheepish.

“Is this okay?”

 _No_ , Winn’s brain screams, but it’s not in charge right now, and Winn feels himself nodding even though he really should know better. “Yeah.”

It takes about two minutes before his hand is back in Clark’s hair, absently toying with the silky strands. Winn feels himself relaxing into it a short while later, and he honestly couldn’t say what’s going on in the movie. Clark, having slept through most of the first one, asks random questions here and there, and Winn might be rambling a little, but Clark never stops him. It’s pretty late by the time the movie’s over, and Clark must’ve dozed off again, even though he can’t be comfortable, curled up on a couch that’s way too small for him, especially with Winn occupying about a third of it.

“You should get some rest,” he tells Clark after the end titles have rolled on The Empire and it’s impossible to pretend that they’re still watching when the screen has gone black.

Clark slowly pushes himself up, rubbing at his eyes, and Winn feels a pang of guilt in his chest: has he been keeping Clark up longer than he should have? But the man never said anything… then again, Clark might be a bit too polite for his own good. Maybe he just didn’t want to point out that Winn isn’t a very good host, ignoring his guest’s exhaustion like that.

Clark opens his mouth to say something, but a huge yawn overtakes him for a moment, and it makes Winn wince. Yeah, alright. He really should’ve let Clark sleep after the first movie, at least.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “I’ll let you off the hook now, I promise. The bathroom’s right there,” he points towards the far end of the living room space, “I’ll get you some clean towels. And a change of clothes. Good thing you’re used to those tight suits because man, I really don’t have your body,” he jokes, a little desperately.

Clark looks at him, eyes a little bit red from rubbing at them, and Winn’s whole world narrows down to that gaze.

“I like it,” Clark says quietly, and Winn’s heart skips a beat. He can’t tear his eyes away from Clark’s and the sudden tension in the air nearly chokes him. Did Clark just–

“I-I mean, the movie, I liked it. So, um. I didn’t mind watching it,” Clark stumbles over his own words a little and oh _god_ , he’s definitely blushing. Winn doesn’t know what to do with that: is Clark just embarrassed that he said something that could be interpreted in a very different way? Winn coughs and pushes himself out of the sofa, incapable of remaining in the same room as Clark while keeping his sanity.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he manages. “I’ll go get you those towels then.”

He hides out in his room for a few minutes, rummaging through his clothes to find sweats and a T-shirt that might fit Clark. The awkwardness has not dissipated completely and Clark doesn’t quite meet his eyes; if Winn didn’t know better, he’d say the man flees to the bathroom as quickly as Winn has fled to his bedroom. Winn spends the next half hour trying not to imagine Clark Kent naked in his shower as he cleans up the apartment and does his best to make his sofa look like an acceptable makeshift bed, but there’s only so much he can do.

“Is it okay if I borrow this?” Clark’s voice pulls him out of his frantic fussing with the blankets. Winn almost swallows his tongue when he turns. Clark’s hair is still damp and there are small patches of wetness seeping through the thin fabric of Winn’s shirt, stretched tight over those ridiculous shoulders. He’s barefoot, and holding up a new toothbrush Winn had bought years ago and kept in case someone unexpectedly stayed over at his place. Up until now, he’s had no use for it; he can only stare and nod dumbly, his brain still rebooting from the sight. Clark gives him a questioning look, but thankfully doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

He emerges from the bathroom in a moment, giving Winn the sweetest smile Winn has seen in his life.

“Thanks. The bathroom’s all yours now. Well, it was yours even before, but… you know what I mean.”

Winn wants to pull him into a hug whenever he talks like that, like he’s not aware of how he looks or who he is to everyone around him. Like he’s never quite recovered from being an awkward teenager from Kansas.

Winn does his best not thinking about how Clark’s lips would taste all minty now, and disappears into the bathroom to have a very, very cold shower.

Clark’s asleep by the time Winn’s done, and the cold water’s done nothing to get rid of the warmth that floods Winn’s chest when he watches Clark, curled up on the sofa and wrapped up in Winn’s blanket. It’s like he belongs here, and when Winn turns off the lights and heads to bed, he falls asleep to the lonely thought of how it would feel to have Clark here, his solid chest pressed into Winn’s back and his arm around Winn like he wouldn’t want to let go.

…

The DEO keeps them busy throughout the day and Winn barely gets to see Clark outside of his apartment. Even without the superpowers, Clark and Kara both provide valuable insight into the possible origins and strength of the alien invaders, and Winn himself has enough readings to check and analyze that he’s barely standing on his own two feet by the time he trudges back to his apartment, a tired Kryptonian in tow. They don’t get to watch more movies on day two or day three, and at the end of day four, Clark’s powers start slowly reappearing.

Day five is a hard one, because neither Kara nor Clark have fully recovered and so they’re not at their best, but with the help of the whole DEO and some massive almost-self-sacrificing heroism from Alex and J’onn, they get the aliens to turn tail.

They’re all dusty and exhausted and Clark is hugging Kara and then Alex, and he’s trying to keep his defenses up so that it won’t feel like betrayal when Clark inevitably leaves without saying goodbye. It’s not like they’re suddenly best friends, just because Clark slept on Winn’s couch, but Winn still watches the superhero wistfully. Clark’s all Superman now, with his flowing cape and the perfect photogenic smile and that impeccable posture, and all Winn wants is to drag him back to his tiny apartment and bury his fingers in Clark’s hair again.

That’s of course when Clark turns to him – no, he’s Superman now, and they’re barely acquaintances again. Winn can’t bear it.

“And thank _you_ , Winn, for letting me stay at your place,” Superman says: it sounds like a continuation of something he’s said to someone else, probably thanking them for the hard work because that’s the kind of a guy he is. Winn nods and turns away.

“Yeah, sure. No problem. See you around at the next invasion,” he mumbles and turns back to his screens, pretending he’s busy.

There’s a weighed silence behind his back for a short moment, and then everybody’s talking again, leaving Winn to his own devices (and his own pathetic misery). His hands clench above the keyboard, and he wishes he could be like that, smile and chat and pat Superman’s back, without any heavy feelings rearing their ugly heads.

He doesn’t watch Superman whoosh away, but he feels the momentary breeze caused by his departure, and it feels like Clark has taken something of Winn with him, something essential and hard to replace.

…

The sense of loss doesn’t really fade, but Winn still has high hopes: it’s only been a couple of days since National City went to its natural, invasion-less and Superman-less state, after all.

But of course, he’s not allowed to try and forget everything his heart has fantasized about while he had stroked Clark Kent’s glossy, perfect hair, because said man and his hair appear on Winn’s doorstep.

He’s wearing a checkered shirt and glasses and that ridiculous, huge smile, and he’s holding a gift bag while Winn can do nothing but gape for at least a whole minute.

“Uh,” he says in the end, and Clark’s smile widens even more.

“Hi,” he raises his hand in a sort-of-wave and offers the gift bag to Winn. “I told you I’d buy you another, right?”

Winn, for the lack of anything better to do in this surreal situation, steps out of the way and waves Clark inside, then takes the bag and unpacks its contents.

It’s a mug, similar to the one Clark broke: plain white with the black Vader mask printed on the front. But there are some scribbles on the other side of it and Winn turns the mug in his hands, nearly dropping it when he realizes what it is.

“You… you got George Lucas’ signature? On a mug?” The words come out all rough and choked because he’s imagining Clark tracking down the famous director and showing up in full Superman gear just to get a signature for Winn. It’s absurdly sweet and thoughtful, and Winn is practically itching to set the mug down and climb Clark like a tree – a hunky, adorable tree that Winn wants to keep forever.

But that would probably just make things worse for himself in the long run, so he forces a neutral, friendly smile on his face when he looks at Clark again.

  
“Thanks. You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble, but I appreciate it, man.”

He walks those few steps to the kitchen to put the mug away in some safe place where he won’t accidentally break it, and then… well, then it’s just him, Clark, and the awkward, tense silence hovering all around the tiny apartment. He watches Clark look around like it’s his first time in here, shuffling on his feet and rubbing at his arm, and there’s secondhand embarrassment in spades. Just as Winn gathers almost enough courage to ask what it is that Clark really wants, Clark smiles at him again:

“So. Can we watch the third one now? The sixth. The _right_ one?“

It’s even more unbelievable that Clark would come all this way from Metropolis just to watch Star Wars, which he could see literally anywhere else, but Winn’s not going to complain.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs and aims for the shelf with his DVDs – but halfway there, Clark’s hand wraps around his wrist and stops him.

Winn can practically feel his heartbeat drumming against Clark’s fingers and he sends a quick prayer to the heavens that Clark doesn’t notice what he does to Winn just by being so close. Except Clark doesn’t seem to be paying attention to anything except gazing right into Winn’s eyes, and wow does it feel intense up close. He’s not smiling: his serious face makes Winn’s stomach twist, both with worry and with expectations, even though it’s silly of him to expect anything but some elaborate problem that Clark maybe needs his help with.

“Winn,” Clark says, and it sounds as if he’s willing Winn to understand, but Winn’s shoved himself too far into the denial closet at this point and even though he _wishes_ he’d understand what Clark’s saying with his bright blue eyes, he’s too afraid to try.

“Yeah?” he mumbles back, and then Clark’s leaning closer, and _damn_ does he smell good.

“I… I have to tell you something.”

Winn cringes inwardly at the words. This is it: this is where Clark says ‘I’ve noticed the way you look at me, and you’re a good guy, but I’m not interested.’ He’ll probably phrase it a bit more nicely, but the gist of it is that Winn hasn’t managed to conceal his feelings as well as he thought he did.

“Kara and Alex,” Clark says, and those are not the names Winn was expecting, so he blinks in confusion, “they, um, they might’ve… there’s no easy way to say this, but. I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since the first time we met, and they noticed, so Alex might have lied about not having a place for me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way, I really didn’t know about it.”

Wait… what? Winn blinks again, the words not making it all the way to his brain because surely Clark couldn’t have said what Winn thinks he’s heard. A crush? On _him_? Clark?!

“Are you making fun of me?” Winn asks – he can’t believe that Clark would be the type to make such a cruel joke, but it just doesn’t compute in his head that Clark, of all people, could maybe have feelings like _that_ for Winn Schott, Jr., nerd _extraordinaire_ and everything else very much _ordinaire._  

Clark’s cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink and his eyes widen as he shakes his head a little too energetically:

“No! I’m serious. I noticed that you were… um. A bit quiet after that last fight. And I thought you might be upset with me, so I wanted to let you know that I had nothing to do with that ridiculous plot. And that I understand if it made you feel uncomfortable, with the way I behaved, and I just wanted to apologize.”

Winn actually gapes at that, and Clark’s face colors even brighter while Winn tries to put his thoughts into actual words.

“You… like me?” he asks, feeling ridiculous for even voicing that idea.

Clark, red as a tomato by now, nods.

It can’t be that easy. Nothing in Winn’s life has ever been this easy, certainly nothing even marginally connected to romance. He takes a deep breath in order not to pass out where he stands, and takes a leap of faith.

“Well, I happen to like you too, so. Um. No discomfort on my side?”

The way Clark’s whole face lights up with that goofy smile warms Winn to the very core. “Would you like to get coffee sometimes? Or dinner?”

“Or we could stay right here and watch that movie,” Winn offers with a smile of his own: he still can’t quite believe it, but the way Clark is looking at him right now is making him want to.

Clark’s hand, still holding on to his wrist, releases its grip for a moment and his fingers slide down Winn’s palm, tangling with Winn’s own. It’s such a simple gesture, but it seems to carry a promise that Winn has never thought he’d get from anyone, and definitely not from the man standing in his apartment right now, looking at him like Winn just made him the happiest alien on Earth.

“We can do that,” Clark smiles, almost shyly. Winn tightens his hold on his hand and turns, pulling Clark to the couch.

He has a feeling he’s not going to be watching the movie too closely tonight, but that’s fine. He’s going to have better things to do.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


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